


A Night in the Ruins

by natlet



Category: Deadwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natlet/pseuds/natlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things that have ended, and things yet to begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night in the Ruins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyrastar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrastar/gifts).



Once they were clear of the town, Sol cracked the reins above the mules' backs, working them up into a run. The well-traveled track was barely visible in the darkness, a pale strip of dry, hard-packed dirt through the grass, and he knew travelling at speed would be dangerous, to say the least. But allowing Byron Sampson and his friends to catch up to them didn't seem like the best of ideas either so he let the team take their bits, the thick leather reins slipping easily through his fingers as they moved up into their harnesses, carrying them ever faster away from Montana. He almost regretted leaving on such poor terms, but he supposed some things couldn't be helped. Not when Seth was involved.

Seth had made his way up from the rear of the wagon, past the tightly packed collection of their possessions and the first of the stock for the hardware store, to sit on the small bench beside Sol. That shoulder had to be hurting him, but he never let on, never so much as drew a sharp breath, even when the wagon's rigid wheels caught the edge of a rut, set them jostling against each other. Early on he'd reached over, laid a gentle hand on Sol's fingers clutched tight around the reins, but seeing as he didn't seem to be mortally wounded and Sol couldn't imagine anything else he had to say being nearly as important as getting the fuck away, and quick, he'd ignored him. To his credit, Seth had known enough to leave it; he'd stayed silent, sat with his rifle held at the ready across his knees, watching as the countryside they recognized gave way to one they didn't.

"Sol." Seth's voice held the razor-edged patience of one who had repeated himself. Possibly several times. Sol turned to face him, blinking hard, feeling a little bit like he'd woken up from a bad dream, a little bit like he was maybe still in it. "You should try and rest," Seth said. "I can take over for a while."

In front of them, the mules were frothed up and breathing in deep, hard bursts. Sol pulled back on the reins, easing them down off their pace. "We should be nearly to the river crossing," he said, clucking at the team, urging them on when they tried to stop. "Mules need to walk a spell anyway, cool down before they can rest. We'll stop there for the rest of the night."

"Stop too long, and we'll be redundant before we arrive. I'm all right to drive for a while, and - "

"We can manage a few hours, Seth." Sol glanced at him, expecting annoyance, eyebrows cocked up and eyes sharp; found him instead soft and tired and almost sad. "We've made good time so far, and - "

Seth nodded, once, an easy surrender. "All right, Sol."

They heard the river before they saw it, the mule team turning as one toward the bright sound of water through the narrow stand of trees, ears pricked. A wagon train was circled up near the entrance to the ford, and Sol gave them a wide berth, not wanting to disturb anyone. At this hour, disturbing someone was likely to result in their appearing, armed to the fucking teeth. A few oxen looked up as they passed, but there was no sound or motion from the wagons, and Sol urged the mules up the river's bank, around a bend, where they'd be out of sight of the trail.

"They're likely to head out in a few hours," Seth said as they passed. "We'd be wise to join up, assuming they're going our way and aren't opposed to the idea."

He was right, and Sol knew it, though he'd half hoped they'd have a day or two on their own before coming across any others headed their way. Seth jumped from the wagon as it came to a stop, rifle cradled in the crook of his elbow. "I'll start a fire, and keep watch until morning," he said, peering up at Sol from under the brim of his hat. "Once the mules are cared for, you should try to sleep."

Sol wanted to protest, wanted to say Seth was the one who was injured and likely worn out from tracking down that horse thief besides, wanted to tell him to take an hour for himself first, at least - but he was just tired enough to hesitate, and Seth was already headed off toward the trees, and chances were all Sol's protests wouldn't amount to anything anyway, so he didn't.

Moving slow, all too aware of the ache in his muscles as he climbed down from the wagon, Sol unhitched the team and led them to the river, letting them drink deeply before staking them in range of some decent grazing. All four dropped to their knees to roll in the dirt the moment they were able, long necks stretched out and legs waving in the air as they puffed and snorted happily. Nearer the wagon, Seth had cleared away a patch of brush and started a fire. He knelt next to it, feeding twisted bundles of dried grass and twigs to the tiny flames, and as Sol came closer he looked up, smiling. "I've got your bedroll out," he said. "Don't suppose it'd be worth setting a tent up, since we won't be stopped for long."

"Don't suppose it would."

For just a second, Seth seemed to hesitate; Sol looked at him, the steady lines of his shoulders outlined against the growing flames, the glittering edge in his eyes. Then Seth turned his attention back to his stack of firewood, carefully selecting a number of slightly larger sticks, and the strange unease in the air between them was gone. "I'll be sure to wake you at first light," he said, prodding at the fire, sending a column of sparks upward. "Got a long way to go before we reach the camp. We should be sure to get an early start."

Sol nodded, though Seth wouldn't see, and picked up his bedroll, setting it up near the wagon's tall wheels, beyond the reach of the fire's glow. He lay facing the darkness beyond the wagon and closed his eyes, focusing on the low familiar sounds of Seth feeding the fire, the mule team puffing softly at each other nearby. They'd spent the night together under the stars often enough that it was all somehow comforting - though usually they weren't accompanied by a wagon full of boots and shovels and chamber pots, and usually they'd get drunk, and usually he'd fall asleep with Seth a warm, snoring weight against his side. He almost wanted to roll over, wanted to get Seth's attention, ask him to come and lie down for a while. Almost didn't recall why he shouldn't. But they'd reach the camp and proper accommodations soon enough, and he was too exhausted for whiskey, and as far as Seth was concerned, well, they'd each made their fucking choices on that matter, hadn't they. Sol got as comfortable as he could on the uneven ground, and tried to rest.

*

The moon had disappeared from the sky by the time Sol woke, crawled from his bedroll. One of the mules flicked an ear toward him as he emerged, but none of them turned their attention from their grazing until he came closer, ran his hands over their muscled shoulders and down their legs, working his way around each one in turn, checking for the patches of heat or swelling that would announce an injury. He regretted running them so hard, but some things couldn't be helped; he could only hope they'd stay sound, and his poor fucking judgement wouldn't continue to haunt them for the rest of the journey to the camp.

Nearer to the river, Seth's clothes lay in a messy pile on the rocky bank. Seth himself was naked, knee-deep in the water, facing the opposite shore. He was barely more than a silhouette, a patch of solid darkness against the shifting grasses in the distance, and for a breath or two all Sol could do was look at him. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Seth like this, but he didn't think he'd ever tire of the view. As he watched, Seth waded farther, the water rising up around his hips, past his narrow waist, into the deep calm channel near the center of the river before he took a breath and dove beneath the surface.

Circling ripples floated lazily away from where he'd disappeared, the current eroding them as it carried them around the bend, and Sol could almost imagine he was alone here, that Seth wasn't bound for Deadwood with him, that Seth had never been here in the first place. He held his breath, though he couldn't explain even to himself why.

Then Seth broke the surface, splashing and spraying water from his nose as he paddled back toward the shore, got his feet under him and waved at Sol. "Come on," he called, grinning. "Water's nice and warm."

Sol laughed. "Bullshit." Took a few steps toward the water's edge anyway, smooth stones shifting under his bare feet. It was still too dark for him to make out Seth's face clearly, but he'd seen the expression often enough he didn't need to, could imagine the tiny wrinkles at the edges of Seth's eyes, the playful quirk to the corner of his mouth. "You're just trying to convince me to get wet. It'll make being on the wagon all day miserable, and you know it."

"Suit yourself." Seth flopped onto his back, sending a wave upstream that seconds later washed back over him, paddling just enough to hold himself in place in the gentle current. The water wasn't warm, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn't as icy on Sol's feet as he'd expected, and he paused to strip off his clothes before plunging in. Seth looked up at the splashing, but he was already too late. Sol barreled into him, caught him around the middle, ducking them both beneath the surface.

They came up laughing, tangling together, their hands slipping as water coursed off their skin. Sol curled a leg around the back of Seth's knee, tried to tug him off balance, succeeded only in unbalancing himself; he grabbed for Seth, but Seth already had his good arm around Sol's waist, holding him up, a preemptive strike against his slipping in the first place. Droplets of water fell from Seth's hair, clung to the skin above his lip, and Sol couldn't help himself any more, leaned up and kissed him, even though they'd discussed this, even though they'd agreed they wouldn't.

"Sol." He tried to pull away, the apology already forming in his mind, but Seth's hands were firm on his hips, Seth wouldn't let him go. "Sol, just - "

They hadn't done this often, and when they had, it had always been Sol who'd started it. But Seth was continuing it this time, and enthusiastically; he'd brought one hand up to cup the back of Sol's head, fingers weaving through his damp hair, was kissing him hard, like there weren't hundreds of reasons why he shouldn't. Sol wished suddenly and desperately that he'd taken the time to set up the tent earlier. They just barely still had the cover of darkness, wouldn't for long, but Seth was dragging him back toward the bank, under the trailing branches of a tree, and it couldn't be helped now. Seth kissed him again, hard and deep and searching, lips firm against Sol's, tongue pressing steady and confident into his mouth. Sol got an arm around his neck, tried to drag him closer, struggling not to cry out just from the feel of him, warm skin and shifting muscle pressed firm and solid against the length of his body.

It was quick; it always was, partially from fear of discovery but mostly because it was Seth, his clever mouth and his rough, warm hands. He'd never been the type to stay close after, but this time he leaned up against Sol, tucked his face against the crook of Sol's neck, the water cool where it rippled around them, lapped against their bare skin.

"This has to stop, Sol," he said quietly, head bowed, lips moving hot and slick against Sol's shoulder. "We can't carry on like this."

"I don't know why you're telling me that now," Sol said, pushing Seth away hard, not feeling even the slightest inkling of guilt at the way Seth reached out toward him even as he was backing away. "Seeing as I agreed with you on that fucking subject the last time we had this conversation." He wasn't surprised in the least, knew Seth well enough to have seen how this was going to play out from the moment he'd woken up; wasn't even angry, not really, but that'd be the easiest part of all of it for Seth to understand. Sol waded from the river, all too aware of exposed they really were out here now that it was lighter, gathered his clothes from the bank, and trudged off toward the wagon to dry.

They hitched up the mules in near silence, Sol making a fucking point to respond to Seth's halting inquiries in the shortest way possible. Sol waited while Seth approached the wagon train they'd spotted the night before about their joining up, trusting Seth's sense of people out here on the trail more than his own. He nodded politely to the folks that passed by in the line of wagons crossing at the ford, and before long Seth returned, climbing up to squeeze onto the bench beside Sol. He inched sideways, trying to give Seth a bit more space; he hadn't noticed the night before how small it seemed, with both of them up there.

"I'm sorry that took a while," Seth said, smiling in a way that almost made Sol want to forgive him everything. "I was held up by a bunch of kids, said their daddy told them I was a lawman. Wanted to know if I was here to protect them, on the way to the camp, and afterward. Had to set them straight." He shrugged. "In a considerate sort of way."

"Good thing there's no law in Deadwood, or you'd be too busy for a hardware store before we even set off."

"Law's everywhere, Sol," he said, quiet enough Sol wouldn't have heard had the wind been blowing the other direction.

It was the reason they'd settled on Deadwood in the first fucking place; the idea of living somewhere so new the law hadn't reached it, somewhere the government had no say, somewhere they could have their store and Seth could provide for his brother's family, start as fresh as they could manage. He remembered the cluttered office in the bank where they'd signed for the loan that would make their dreams a reality, and the bright giddy way he'd felt the first time Seth called him his partner, and how nothing before or since had ever really come close.

Then, with a shout, he set the mules across the river, toward the promise of their new hardware store and whatever the fuck else they'd find when they reached the camp.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Izzy (as always) for the beta and encouragement, and to Galway Kinnell for [the poem that inspired the title](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171389).


End file.
